


shaking off the surging darkness

by demigoddesses



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - World War II, F/F, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:52:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8964022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demigoddesses/pseuds/demigoddesses
Summary: “H-Homura.” She turns away, her gaze distant. “Have we met - ” She then trails off, shaking her head. She hears Madoka’s unfinished question ring in the air - Have we met before? - and wonders if they have, wonders why she feels like she knows Madoka beyond a brief encounter when they were both twelve, wonders why there’s something tugging in her heart, wonders why there’s something so incredibly familiar about her, about them. “Never mind,” Madoka says. “That’s silly.”__Homura/Madoka World War II AU.





	

  _part i_

/

**August 1939**

Light from the setting sun streaks through the window, obstructed by only a bare, sorry-looking tree. On the tree sits a single brown bird, hopping around on its branch, occasionally fluttering to a different location. Its antics are rather amusing, if looked at from a certain perspective. From her hospital bed, Homura focuses on that bird and tries to be amused, instead of focusing on the doctor at her side, who is currently flipping through test reports and remaining scarily silent.

The door rattles open, and Homura turns away from the bird to see her father walk in.

“Ah, Mr. Akemi. I’m glad you’re here,” says the doctor, an American man with dark blue eyes and thin fingers that remind her of pink worms. He’s actually a very friendly man, and she feels a little bad for mentally comparing his fingers to worms.

Her father nods solemnly and sits down in the chair next to the doctor. “How is the report?” he asks, direct as always.

The doctor purses his lips, and for a moment, Homura fears the worst. Her heart condition is fatal. She only has a hundred days left to live. She’s lucky she’s lasted this long…

“She’ll be fine. The new medication seems to be working well. Keep her resting for the next week or so, and she’ll recover completely,” the doctor says, his lips stretching into a warm smile.

She unexpectedly feels tears welling in her eyes, and she tries to keep them in because otherwise she’ll wet her glasses, and it’s always a pain to wipe things off her glasses. She sniffles but can’t stop a couple tears from leaking out as she leans into her father’s hug.

“You hear that, Homura?” her father asks in Japanese, stroking her hair. “It’s all going to be okay.”

\

She and her father walk home together, Homura delighted about being outside again and steady on her own two feet despite her father’s offer to carry her. She doesn’t want to look like a total baby; she is twelve years old, after all. They do hold hands, however. It’s dark outside now, and she’s afraid she’ll get lost.

Suddenly, her father stiffens and turns her away, his grip on her hand like iron.

“Ah,” she whines, rubbing her wrist. “Father, why did you…” She trails off when she sees them: a group of men standing in the corner of the street, beer bottles in their hands, their white faces red with alcohol. Homura looks away and stares at the ground.

“Better safe than sorry,” her father says, sensible and protective as always. Homura nods in agreement. A group of drunk men is never a good idea, especially because her black hair and cream skin marks her as unmistakably _foreign_. San Francisco, California is not the worst place in the world to be a foreigner, but she is a foreigner nonetheless, and it is much better to be safe than sorry.

She’s not afraid, though. She holds onto her father’s hand a little tighter as they take another route to their house. There’s no reason to be afraid with her father around.

\

She’s exhausted by the time she gets home, but she tries her best not to show it. She doesn’t want her father to worry more than he already does.

“Sleepy?” her father asks, as if reading her mind.

She shakes her head forcefully. “No! I’m fine.”

“Good,” he says, gesturing for her to sit down at the kitchen table with him. “Because I have a surprise for you.” He waves around a thick white envelope.

At the sight of the envelope, her eyes widen, and she quickly skits to her father’s side. “A letter?”

“It came earlier today, but I didn’t want to open it without you,” her father explains. “Go ahead, open it.”

Homura’s already on it, prying the paper apart while being careful not to rip anything. Even the envelope is precious. The first thing that spills out is a drawing labeled _Family Portrait_ , no doubt created by her seven-year-old sister. It’s poorly colored but crafted with love, and Homura gazes at each smiling face. Her mother, all four of her grandparents, her aunt and uncle, her two older brothers, and her sister herself, in front of a field of flowers. She then pulls out a letter and drinks in every detail, trying to picture their life in Japan. They had recently updated the plumbing system in their house in Mitakihara. Her grandma had passed her sixty-fifth birthday with a big party to toast her prime health. Her aunt was pregnant with her first child, and she was hoping for a boy. These events likely happened a few weeks ago, as it always takes a while for letters to complete their journey, but she likes to pretend that they’re happening right now as she reads the words, and she’s right there with her family.

“When are we going back home?” she asks, a little morose. She hasn’t seen the rest of her family in seven years, and she misses them. And, although she’s gotten used to it, she hates being the outsider in a foreign country.

“Soon,” her father says, as he always does. He’s a successful, well-respected businessman that has work to do in America, but the main reason they moved to California was for her. Her father knew a good doctor here and wanted her to get the best treatment for her heart condition. But now that she’s perfectly fine, they shouldn’t need to stay…

“I mean it this time,” her father says, again reading her mind. “We’re going home soon. I promise. I miss them too, you know.” He brushes his fingers against her sister’s drawing.

\

Homura’s studying a few days later, when she opens up her math book and two tickets fall out, two tickets for a ship heading directly to Mitakihara, Japan, on the island of Kyushu. She turns to the next page in the book, and a little handwritten note from her father winks up at her. _We’re going home, Homura._

\

August 14th is a Monday, and she wakes up earlier than usual. She feels excited and a little nervous and much too restless to fall back asleep - today is the day she’s going home! She gets out of bed and decides to make breakfast for herself. She sneaks past her father’s room and, hearing soft snores, decides to make breakfast for her father too. Normally her father’s already gone to work by the time she wakes up, so she takes advantage of this rare occasion.

She searches the cabinets and finds that, unfortunately, they hardly have any food left. Of course they don’t; they’re leaving today. But she swore she saw a loaf of bread around here yesterday…

“Homura, what are you doing so early?” her father asks, sneaking up on her.

She turns around and blushes. “I-I wanted to make breakfast?”

“You don’t need to do that, Homura,” her father says.

“I want to!” she insists.

“I don’t have time to eat breakfast anyway,” he says, glancing at the clock. “I’m running late.”

“But at least some bread and jam…” She looks around, trying to locate that loaf of bread.

Her father shakes his head. “No, I really should be going.” He walks over and places a quick kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll be back by at least five. And we’ll be on that train by six. Will you do me a favor and make sure everything that needs to be packed is packed while I’m gone?”

Homura nods. “Of course, Dad.”

“I know I can count on you,” he says, pushing open the door. “Goodbye, honey. See you at five.”

“See you at five!” she echoes as her father closes the door.

\

Short version: her father does not come home at five.

Long version: Homura checks to make sure that everything that needs to be packed is packed three times, locates half a loaf of bread, eats two pieces of bread with jam, braids and unbraids and braids her hair twice, reads her textbooks and all the letters her family has sent her since she came to America, checks the clock anxiously every twenty or so minutes, finishes her self-assigned math homework, and, even though she’s afraid of the dark, stays up all night waiting for her father to come home. He never does.

\

She must have fallen asleep at some point because she wakes up sprawled on the couch with a nasty crick in her neck. The tickets to home and her father’s written promise dangle from her hand. She checks the clock. It’s six forty-three in the morning. And it’s August 15th.

She feels sick.

Her first instinct is to crawl into her bed and hide under the covers until her father appears with a wide grin and a _haha, it was just a joke, I didn’t scare you, did I?_ To which she would respond, _well actually, you scared me a lot, but it’s okay, because we’re going home now, aren’t we?_

All she has to do is wait. Wait for him to come. Because he will come.

She feels sick.

\

Maybe her father got caught in a fire. Or maybe he got hit by a train. Or maybe those drunk men on the street took him. No, not the drunk men on the street. Her father is much too strong and sensible to be taken by men like them. Her father is much too strong and sensible for anything bad at all to have happened to him. He must be alive, he’s just running slow, he must be coming for her.

In the meantime, she should… she should check to make sure that everything that needs to be packed is packed. There’s her single, small suitcase, which has her clothes and brushes and soaps and backup glasses. Then there’s her father’s much larger suitcase, which has everything else, including both of their passports, the most recent letter they received from Japan with her family’s address, and decent sum of money. On a whim, she moves over these items into her own suitcase. Not that this is necessary. Her father’s coming back for her, of course.

She’s hungry. She goes back into the kitchen and, as she spreads strawberry jam onto a slice of bread, wonders how much longer her loaf of bread will last. Not that worrying is necessary. Her father will be back soon.

\

August 16th comes. She’s tired but can’t possibly sleep, hungry but too anxious to eat, and absolutely _terrified_. It’s only a matter of time before -

No, she can’t think like that. Her father’s coming back. He’s coming back, he’s coming back, he’s coming back.

Around two in the afternoon, she finally hears a knock on the door. She blinks for a couple moments, wondering if she’s hallucinating, if her mind has succumbed to the circumstances and gone mad. Then she hears the knock again, and this time she doesn’t hesitate to spring into action. The two tickets still clenched in her hand, she runs towards the door and hastily pulls it open.

It’s not her father.

\

The girl in the doorway is around her age, with pink hair pulled into two pigtails by bright red ribbons. Homura stands in front of her, frozen in shock. Her mouth is wide open, half-formed around the word _Dad_. The other girl smiles, and it’s a nice enough smile, Homura supposes, but it’s not her father’s smile. Because it is not her father.

“Hi!” the strange girl says brightly, in accented English. “Nice to meet you! My name is Madoka Kaname. What’s your name?”

Homura says nothing, still frozen in shock.

The girl - Madoka - tilts her head to the side in an absolutely adorable manner. “Do you not speak English?” She switches over to Japanese and speaks in a more tender tone. “Hey, are you okay? My name’s Madoka Kaname, what’s yours?”

“H-h-homura Akemi,” she finally stammers out. If her mind was in a better state, she would have probably been delighted at finding another Japanese girl around her age in San Francisco.

“Homura, that’s such a cool name! It means flame, so it’s like you’re supposed to flare up passionately!” Madoka comments, clasping her hands together.

Homura can’t do anything apart from stare at the ground and wonder if it’s possible to disappear altogether. “W-where is my father?”

Madoka’s pink eyes soften. “Oh! I don’t know. Maybe I could help you?”

 _I don’t know_. She doesn’t even catch what Madoka says next because her world is spinning, and everything is wrong. “No, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t.” She lets out a shuddering breath and finally admits out loud what she’s known all this time. “He’s gone.”

\

“My family hasn’t really been living here very long,” Madoka explains as she pulls at Homura’s hand gently and leads her to her house. “In fact, we only moved in three days ago, so I don’t really know this place very well. Mom told me and Sayaka - that’s the name of my friend - to stay out of trouble, and I did! But Sayaka wanted to explore or something, so she dragged me into it. Then Sayaka told me that she thought there was a ghost here. She said she saw you through the window, I think.”

Homura says nothing as Madoka pulls her around. Madoka could be taking her to a pit of snakes right now, and Homura wouldn’t care. She drags her feet and her suitcase behind her. The tickets to her freedom lie at the bottom of a trashcan, as she’s acknowledged that they’re useless now. She feels empty inside, yet heavy at the same time. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. She’s supposed to be heading home right now. Home. With her father.

Madoka squeezes her hand gently, turns around, and smiles. “Homura, I’m really glad I found you, instead of a ghost.”

“M-miss Kaname,” Homura stammers, looking down at her feet and feeling her cheeks redden.

“It’s Madoka, silly!” the other girl says, waving the hand that isn’t holding onto Homura’s. “Just Madoka. I think we’re the same age. How old are you?”

“T-twelve.”

“See? Me too. So it’s just Madoka.”

Homura nods, although she really doesn’t understand how she’s supposed to interact with children her own age. Being in the hospital so often, coupled with her own reclusive nature, resulted in her not really going to games or parties or even school. All her life she’s been around doctors and nurses and the occasional tutor that stopped by to make sure she wasn’t falling behind on her studies, although that wasn’t really necessary because she was pretty good at being home-schooled and keeping up with work on her own. She was good at being on her own in general.

“And anyway, we’re friends now, aren’t we?” Madoka asks. Homura doesn’t know why, but for some reason she finds the ends of her own mouth quirking up into a small, shy smile. It’s probably something that has to do with the way Madoka smiles back, bright and radiant, like sunlight shining through the cracks of her defenses.

\

They arrive at Madoka’s place (which is not a pit of snakes but a nice-looking flat), and Madoka knocks on the door. It’s only a couple moments before it swings open to reveal another girl around her age, with short blue hair and matching blue eyes that look at Homura skeptically.

“What is that?” the girl at the door asks, gesturing at Homura. “Madoka, your mom told you not to bring home any more stray pets!”

“That was one time,” Madoka says, crouching down and petting the tiny black cat that appears around the blue-haired girl’s legs. Standing back up with the cat squirming in her arms, she adds, “And don’t be rude, Sayaka. This is Homura. Homura, this is my best friend Sayaka Miki. Her family and my family are traveling and living together for now. Say hello!”

Homura is about to say hello to Sayaka, when all of a sudden, the cat leaps out of Madoka’s arms and into Homura’s.

“Oh, Amy likes you!” Madoka exclaims. “I guess cute things just want to be near each other!”

Homura pets the cat in her arms and gives up on trying to hide her blush.

Sayaka just clicks her tongue. “I don’t trust this girl. Madoka, you can’t just bring home everything you think is cute.” She glares at Homura, who quickly averts her gaze to the ground.

“But I can!” Madoka insists. Taking Homura’s hand once again, she pushes past Sayaka and brings her inside. “Ooh, it’s almost lunch. I bet Homura is starving. Maybe we can leave something for Amy too. Dad, are you home?”

Another lump forms in her throat at Madoka’s casual usage of the word _dad_ , but Madoka’s soft hand and the soft fur of the cat, who is now back on the ground and nuzzling Homura’s legs, makes her feel a little better. She wants to go home, she thinks, as she quietly follows Madoka into the kitchen, but she manages to keep herself together as Madoka introduces her to her parents, Tomohisa and Junko Kaname, and her younger brother, Tatsuya. Madoka’s dad makes them lunch, and she doesn’t cry even though everything about the sight is wrong.

\

The rest of the day passes in a blur. She answers all the questions Madoka and her parents ask her, but otherwise she doesn’t speak too much. She plays with Amy, half-listens to Madoka’s ramblings, and avoids Sayaka’s glare. (She’s not sure why Sayaka dislikes her. Madoka says that Sayaka is just mistrustful and overprotective and doesn’t dislike her at all.) Around four, Homura’s tiredness really kicks in, and she tells Madoka that she would like to go to sleep. Homura offers to sleep on the couch, or the ground, or outside or something, but Madoka of course tucks Homura into her own bed.

It’s obvious the Kaname family hasn’t been in San Francisco long because everything in Madoka’s bedroom is plain and empty and about as welcoming as a hospital room. It doesn’t suit Madoka at all. Madoka seems like the kind of girl who would have heart-printed bedsheets and pink wallpaper and stuffed animals scattered around everywhere. They must not have had enough time to unpack.

She closes her eyes and tries to fall asleep because she really is very tired, but her eyes open again when she hears voices outside her door.

“Sayaka’s right in this case, Madoka. It’s only been three days, and you’ve already brought home two creatures! You can’t keep bringing in strangers.” Homura recognizes the voice as Madoka’s mother.

“But Mom, she doesn’t have anywhere else to go!” she hears Madoka say. “She says her father is missing. I couldn’t leave her all alone!”

“This isn’t our business, Madoka. I don’t know who takes care of this kind of stuff here, but I have your father asking around - ”

“Mom, no! Can’t we just, you know, keep her?”

She hears Junko sigh. “Madoka, you have a good heart,” she says. “You always want to help everyone. It’s good that you brought her here for now, but we can’t just keep her. She’s not ours. She’s her own person - ”

“But it’s not safe for her alone!” Madoka interrupts.

It’s silent for a while. Homura strains to hear what Madoka and her mother are saying, but they’re speaking too quietly for her to pick up on anything now. Homura gives up and closes her eyes, Madoka’s words ringing in her head. _It’s not safe_. At least the rest of her family is safe, in Japan. She should be with them right now. She misses them so much, even if the few memories she can recall of them are faint and blurry. She’s accepted the fact that her father is gone, but she has a mother waiting for her. A mother, four grandparents, an aunt and uncle, two older brothers, and a younger sister.

\

At some point in the middle of the night, Homura jerks awake with her heart pounding. She thinks she was dreaming about something, but she can't quite remember what that something was. Something to do with magic, maybe.

She takes deep breaths in an attempt of slowing down her heartbeat because even if the doctor said her heart was okay (had it only been a few days ago?) it's always better to be safe than sorry when it comes to her heart. She's not sure what time it is, but it's very dark outside. She pulls the blankets closer to herself and squeezes her eyes shut. Hopefully when she opens them, it'll be sunny outside. Well, she actually wouldn't mind if it was cloudy outside. So long as it isn't dark like this. She's afraid of the dark.

Suddenly she feels something poke at her side, and her heart skips a beat. Oh God, this is why she doesn't like the dark, this is why, this is what took her father, it must be a demon, or a ghost, or some other demented darkness creature, it must be -

It's Madoka. Homura's scream dies in her throat, and instead a small strangled noise comes out.

“I hope I didn't scare you, Homura,” Madoka says, tilting her head.

“N-no, you didn't,” Homura lies.

Madoka smiles. "Well, it's just that I couldn't sleep, and I decided to check on you. I hope I didn't wake you up or bother you in any way or anything. You can go back to sleep if you want, even - ”

“I-it's okay,” Homura interrupts, sitting up and reaching for her glasses. “I'm okay. C-could you turn the light on?”

Madoka nods and, with a flick of her wrist, the room is bright and illuminated. Homura hides her sigh of relief.

“Homura, it's okay if you don't want to talk about it, but what really happened to your dad?” Madoka asks, sitting down on the bed with her.

“I don't know,” she whispers, leaning just a bit into Madoka. “He just didn't come home one day.”

“Do you have any other family?” Madoka asks. “Like, what about your mom?”

Homura nods. “W-well, they're all in Mitakihara. Th-that’s a small city on the island Kyushu, in Japan. I haven't seen my mom or anyone else since I was five.”

“That's awful!” Madoka exclaims, pulling away and looking at Homura in shock. “I can't imagine being away from my mom for that long. She's the best.” Madoka furrows her brow, as if in deep thought. “Well, what about friends, then?”

“I don't really have any,” Homura mumbles.

“N-nobody that could take care of you?” Madoka asks, her voice sounding broken.

Homura begins to shake her head but stops when she sees that Madoka's pink eyes are filling up with tears. “Miss, it’s alright. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying! There’s something in my eye, that’s all.” Madoka exclaims, hastily swiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “And it’s Madoka, just Madoka, remember? Because I’m your friend, Homura. You have me.”

Homura smiles weakly. “Where’s Amy?” she asks, changing the subject, because she’s not really sure how to respond.

“Oh, Amy? I don’t know,” Madoka says. “She’s off outside, I guess. She stops by our house from time to time, but really she never stays long. She likes to stay free, no matter how many meals I set outside for her. I guess, in that way, Mom is right… Amy’s not mine, you know. And Homura, you’re not either.” Madoka lets out a soft sigh. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, Homura, what do you want?”

 _What do you want?_ She tosses the question around in her head. What does she want? What she wants more than anything else in the world is to see her father again, but she knows that’s not going to happen. He’s gone, and it’s best that she doesn’t delude herself.

“I want to go home.”

\

When she wakes up again, the sun is shining brightly outside, and Madoka is nowhere to be seen. Someone, however, has tucked her in nicely. She briefly contemplates going back to sleep before getting out of bed and heading outside, where she can smell food and hear voices. Everyone else must be in the kitchen.

The first thing she sees when she reaches the kitchen is Amy, her little pink tongue lapping at a bowl of milk Madoka must have set out. The sleek black cat sits contentedly on the kitchen counter, next to the open window, and upon finishing her bowl, she bounds back outside.

“Good morning, Homura,” Madoka says in her usual bright tone. “Oh, you should get your suitcase, and have some bread, because we’ll be leaving soon.”

“Leaving? For where?” she asks in bewilderment as she sits down next to Madoka. It must still be very early because no one else appears to be awake.

“It’s a surprise,” Madoka says, putting a finger to her lips.

“A surprise?” Homura asks.

“Oh, okay I’ll tell you. I can’t take it anymore!” Madoka exclaims. Madoka hops off her chair and clasps Homura’s hands in her own. “Homura, you go get your suitcase because I’m taking you home!”

_Home?_

\

She leans against the cool window of the streetcar, watching the scenery pass her by. Although it’s technically autumn, the land looks as green and lush as ever, and it won’t really get cold until November. She finds it strange to think that she won’t be here by November. Is Madoka really going to take her to Mitakihara?

She remembers Mitakihara, Japan. She remembers their little white house, crowded but always cozy. She remembers green grass and a porch where her mother braided her hair while they watched the sun set. She remembers raising chickens with her brothers and fluffy yellow chicks.

The streetcar abruptly jerks to the side, and she feels Madoka’s head loll onto her shoulder. Her eyes widen at the sight of the other girl, eyes closed and mouth slightly open, deep in slumber. How is she already asleep? They’ve barely been in this car for a minute! Homura looks around for assistance, but of course no one else they know is around. Madoka unconsciously snuggles closer to her, and Homura finds that she actually doesn’t mind that much. She continues to watch the scenery pass her by and savors the other girl’s warmth.

\

Madoka awakens just a second before the streetcar comes to a stop.

“Ah, Homura, I hope I didn’t drool on you or anything,” she says as she lifts her head from Homura’s shoulder. She stretches out her arms and legs, and Homura feels cold and bereft. _Please come back_ , she almost says.

“Y-you didn’t drool,” she stammers out instead.

“That’s good. Well, let’s go!” Madoka takes Homura’s hand, which makes up for some of Homura’s lost warmth, and leads her out of the streetcar. “I want you to meet a friend of mine.”

Homura blinks as they exit the car, her eyes adjusting to the sunlight, and takes in her new surroundings. They seem to near the ocean, if the smell of salt in the air is to be trusted. Despite living in California for so long, she’s only been to the ocean a couple times. They run past a huge ship, and behind it, Homura can see the ocean, immense and blue and glittering. It’s absolutely beautiful. Holding onto Madoka’s hand and feeling the sun on her head, she wonders why she didn’t come more often. Surely the fresh ocean air would have been good for her heart.

“Mami, Mami!” Madoka exclaims, finally coming to a stop. When no one responds, she turns to Homura. “Do you think she can’t hear me above all the noise?” It is pretty noisy around here, with the crashing ocean waves, moaning ships, and shrieking gulls, but Homura can hear Madoka’s voice pretty clearly.

“Who can’t hear you?” Homura asks.

Madoka points at ahead of them, where a blonde girl is talking to an American merchant, her back turned to them. “My friend Mami. Her dad works on this dock.” Madoka takes a deep breath and yells out, “Mami!” once again..

Finally, the girl turns around. Her eyes are as golden as her ringlets.

“Madoka, it’s good to see you,” says Mami, waving and walking towards them. “Who is this?” she asks, with a glance towards Homura.

“This is my friend, Homura Akemi. I need your help, Mami,” Madoka explains. “Are any ships today heading towards Japan?”

Mami frowns. “Well, I think there’s one going to Mitakihara later this afternoon but - ”

“Mitakihara, that’s absolutely perfect!” Madoka squeals. “Homura, that’s where your family lives, isn’t it? It’s almost as if some god out there is making sure everything goes right.”

The golden-haired girl looks confused. “Madoka, you don’t mean to board this ship, do you? It is a passenger ship, but tickets were bought weeks in advance. There won’t be any room.”

“We’ve come this far. We can’t give up now,” Madoka says, absolutely determined. Homura look at her, and she thinks Madoka is the god out there making sure everything goes right.

\

By some miracle, Mami and Madoka convince the captain of the ship to take another passenger. The next thing she knows, she’s been welcomed aboard the ship.

“This ship doesn’t actually leave for an hour or so, but then you should be going home, Homura. Just like you wanted,” Madoka says, with another one of her radiant smiles. The three girls stand on the deck in front of the boat, staring out at the ocean.

“H-how did you do it?” Homura asks.

“It was mostly Mami,” Madoka says modestly. “She pulled a few strings. Mami is always good at helping others!”

“Don’t be silly,” Mami says dismissively. “You were the real force of nature, Madoka. And you were the one who paid for the fare.”

“You paid for the ticket?” Homura repeats. “Y-you didn’t have to do that!” Now that she thinks about it, Madoka must have paid for their ride on the streetcar as well. She feels awful. She hates being a burden, but it seems like that’s all she ever is.

“But I wanted to!” Madoka insists. “I’d been saving up for all that money for a while, from birthdays and holidays, because I was waiting for something to come along that was really, really worth it. Homura, helping you: it makes me feel like I’m doing something meaningful.”

Homura looks away and blushes. “Madoka, you shouldn’t have… ”

“Homura, I hope you find your home and family again,” Madoka continues, interrupting her.  “I wish I could go further with you, to make sure that you’re safe, but I don’t think I can. I’ll have to leave you here. You’ll be okay, right? You’re going to find your family and go home again. Promise me you’ll be okay.”

Blinking the tears out of her eyes, she nods. This is the least she can do for Madoka: promise her that she’ll be okay. “Y-yes, of course.” She unexpectedly overwhelmed with emotion, and she grabs the smiling girl and wraps her into a hug. Madoka freezes for just a moment before squeezing her back. “B-but, I’ll really miss you, Madoka.”

Madoka leans away from the hug, just enough so that their arms are still around each other but Homura can see her pink eyes shining. “Homura! You finally called me by my first name. I’m happy.”

Homura swallows the lump in her throat. “Thank you,” she says, as she pulls away and boards the ship, taking her suitcase with her. She waves goodbye and, for a split second, she considers running off the ship and telling Madoka that she wants to stay with her, instead. Then she remembers that she promised Madoka that she’s going to find her family and go home and be okay.

So it's going to be okay.

/

_part ii_

/

**April 1945**

Cities never look good after they’ve been firebombed to the ground, and Kazamino is no exception. Homura walks through the rubble, soot staining her boots. They rarely salvage anything of use on these sort of trips, but Homura’s not one to do a job incompletely. If there’s food or weapons or even blankets, she ought to pick it up. Better yet, it would be wonderful if she found a survivor. But that’s highly unlikely. If there were any survivors, they’re probably far away from this scene by now. Kyubey had the girls wait a few hours before going in to make sure every single fire had burned out. It wouldn’t do him any good for any of them to die here, after all. Dying is reserved for battle.

She spots something bright and pink in the distance, and for a second, she remembers a pink-haired girl telling her everything would be okay. She gets closer and realizes that the pink object is what appears to be half of a blown-up teddy bear. Totally useless. She passes by it without another glance.

“Hey Homura, did you find anything?” says Kyoko Sakura, her partner of sorts (not really, because Homura doesn’t have partners). She has an apple in one hand and a bite in her mouth.

“No,” she says, deciding not to comment on Kyoko’s apple. Even though they’re supposed to bring salvaged materials back to the school, Kyoko never does as told when it comes to food. Homura’s used to it and knows the other girl won’t listen to reason.

“You know, this was my home town,” the redhead says. Her sharp canines dig into the apple once again, more aggressively than usual. “Not that I care.”

Homura upturns a rock with her shoe. There’s a red ribbon underneath it, probably from the blown-up bear. She turns the rock back on its side to cover up the ribbon. “Did you find anything other than that apple?” she asks.

“Actually, I found an entire bag,” Kyoko says, sounding immensely satisfied with herself. She shakes off the dust on the brown burlap bag and then slings it over her shoulder. “It’s a little dirty, but I’m not going to waste perfectly good apples. And don’t ask me to share!”

“I wasn’t going to,” Homura says. With a flip of her hair, she turns back to the academy. “Kyoko, I don’t think there’s anything of worth in this city. I’m going to leave.”

“Yeah, let’s leave,” says Kyoko, finishing up her apple. “Let’s leave this stupid blasted dump.”

\

Her home was a stupid blasted dump when Homura found it, six years ago.

\

The official name of the Magical Girl Academy is the Mitakihara Academy for Homeless Girls. There is no Mitakihara anymore, but of course no one cares enough to change the official name. It's easy to find the Magical Girl Academy because it's the only building around for acres. Everything else has been razed to the ground, but the Magical Girl Academy still stands. That's one of the reasons it's called the Magical Girl Academy. Another reason is because it’s used as a derisive term by the outside world - the small portion that’s aware of their existence, anyway. They’re Mitakihara’s secret weapon in the war, the oh-so-powerful Magical Girls. And the third, most accurate reason is because it magically transforms girls into soldiers. Scrawny, innocent girls go in. Hardened, battle-ready soldiers come out.

There is no magic in the system, however. Just a lack of options and brutal training. That's the way it was for Homura.

\

Mitakihara, like Kazamino, was firebombed a month ago. It was only a matter of time, from a strategic point of view. Although on the smaller side, Mitakihara was an important port town, and destroying it would be a blow to Japan. Homura can see why the enemy would do it, and she doesn't care too much for the town anyway. Not when everything that was important about the town was already destroyed by the time she arrived.

Neighbors told her that the little white house burned down in the middle of the night in a freak accident, two weeks ago. The fire was absolutely savage, and no one in the little white house had survived, although the fire was contained before it spread to other houses. As if that was a comfort to her. Her mother, her four grandparents, her aunt and uncle, her two older brothers, and seven-year-old younger sister: all dead. Not even the chickens that she had once helped hatch made it out. She had wandered around for a while after that, wondering how in the world this was possible and what in the world she should do. This time, there was no father to rescue her. There wasn't even a Madoka. It was simply her, useless, worthless Homura, all on her own.

That was how Kyubey had found her: tears streaking down her face, wallowing in the depths of her despair.

\

It's not until she's back at the Magical Girl Academy that she hears the news: Adolf Hitler is dead, and Germany has surrendered. Maybe this is why she and Kyoko and the rest of the troops were called from their station on the island of Kirsten, back to the mainland. Only an event that momentous would cause Kyubey to pull out the troops. Kyubey, however, is yet to give any opinion on the topic. Apart from giving them orders to salvage what they could from Kazamino, Kyubey hasn't told them anything at all.

Even if no one speaks of it openly, she hears the whispers as well: surely this means the war is over for Japan too? They can't possibly fight the rest of the world just on their own. Maybe they'll get a respite from this hell.

The next day, however, the bugle rings at five in the morning and sends them off to training, as if nothing has changed at all. There is nothing on the radio at all about Japan surrendering. Japan will fight on, the rest of the world be damned. And so will the girls. Of course there is no respite from this hell.

Most of the girls at the school are pilots who fly war planes. The girls that can't physically fight help Japan in some other way work in the underground factory, mass-producing gun shells that they either use themselves or sell to the military. Their official purpose is to defend the mainland, but the real action happens on various islands on the Pacific Ocean. Homura is one of the girls who fights.

There's over two hundred girls living at the academy from all over the country, with ages beginning at four. A few girls have even been here since birth. Many are orphans. Others have families but are here because they decided they would rather not be with them. Some of the girls' families decided for them. All of them are only here because they have nowhere else to go.

\

The first week or so at the Mitakihara Academy for Homeless Girls wasn't that bad. The school was beautiful, at least from the outside: a pristine, pale blue building surrounded by lush green fields. The boarding school was a quality education and three meals a day and a bed to sleep in. The labor at the underground factory she provided in place of money was tiring, but it was also mind-numbing, and mind-numbing was exactly what she needed.

Then Germany had invaded Poland, and the world had been hurled into war. (Of course, Japan had already been at war for a while. But not the girls.) A few weeks later, Kyubey had asked her if she was interested in learning how to fly a plane. She had said no. His expression ever-unchanging, Kyubey had merely told her that he expected to see her and all the other girls in the back field the next day. From then on, all semblance of the Mitakihara Academy for Homeless Girls being a regular school was gone.

What surprised Homura, when she went out to the field the next day, was the fact that so many of the other girls already knew how to fly a war plane. At the sight of nine-year-old Nagisa Momoe, twirling and flying through the sky all while proclaiming her love for cheese, it had suddenly hit Homura that Kyubey had been planning for this all along, even before Germany invaded Poland.

\

The day continues to march on in ordinary fashion, as if Germany's surrender means nothing at all. Of course the hope that an end for Germany would mean an end for the world war as well was foolish. She’s not twelve anymore. She’s eighteen years old, smart enough to know that Kyubey would never let the girls just stop. Kyubey, however, is yet to make an official statement on any of this. Homura hasn’t seen him since she returned.

It isn't until dinner time that Kyubey finally comes back. He's not alone. It makes sense now: Kyubey was out recruiting again. That's the way it is at the academy. Girls die in battle, but homeless girls never seem to be out of supply, especially with all the recent bombings. It’s an endless cycle: girls die, girls come, girls die. Homura glances up from her much too watery miso soup without much interest when a flash of pink captures her gaze.

Madoka Kaname.

\

Homura got seasick on the boat, the boat that was taking her home, and she threw up twice the day they left. She got used to the rocking of the boat eventually. Although she always felt a little nauseous, most of the time she was able to keep in her vomit. She mostly kept to herself and reread the letter her family in Japan had sent her whenever she was feeling down.

Madoka had gotten her a small room near the bottom of the boat. It really couldn't be called a room; it was more of a closet. That was probably one of the reasons why no one else had taken it. But Homura didn't resent Madoka for that or anything. She was still incredibly grateful. She was a small girl, anyway. She didn't need that much space.

So being on the ship wasn't exactly paradise. She felt sick for most of the ride, her room was cramped, and she was lonely. When the ship finally arrived, she practically ran off and then promptly fell flat on her face. Her legs had forgotten what it was like to walk on solid ground, and not a wobbly deck. And from then on, it only got worse.

She thought a lot about Madoka, the first week, and her promise that it was all going to be okay. She clung to it, that hope. A small part of her still does, although the larger part of her likes to pretend that part doesn't exist. How hypocritical of her, to cling to her own hope while mentally berating other girls for having hopes of their own. But in her defense, it's really more like the hope is clinging to her, rather than the other way around. Sure, during the day she could throw herself into work and forget. But at night, when she couldn’t sleep, when she lay in her bed staring at the ceiling, she thought of Madoka. And no matter how many years passed, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how many times she told herself that she knew better, she couldn't get rid of Madoka.

\

Madoka hasn’t noticed her yet. She’s deep in conversation with another familiar girl: Madoka's blue-haired friend, the one who didn't trust her. What had her name been again? Seyiku? The two of them walk through the dining hall, their eyes drinking in the sight. Some of the other girls in the group look wary, but Madoka has the same wide-eyed, trusting gaze. Madoka's eyes suddenly meet hers, and their gazes lock for a fraction of a second, just enough time for Madoka's eyes to widen in recognition, before Homura turns away. Madoka hasn't changed at all, with her pink pigtails and innocent eyes, but Homura has.

It was after her first battle that she put in her contacts and stopped wearing her braids.

She sees Madoka heading towards her with a tray of food, waving wildly, the blue-haired girl trailing behind her. Homura stands up and walks away.

\

There's an unspoken rule at the school that no one disturbs Kyubey, but tonight, Homura does.

Because Madoka Kaname should not be here. Homura's okay with herself not being okay. But a person as pure and uncorrupted as Madoka Kaname doesn't deserve to be at a place like this. Madoka should be safe and happy. She should be living with her family, with her mother and father and brother, in San Francisco, California, where she belongs, and not Mitakihara, Japan. She feels something stir in her heart that she hasn't felt in a long time. She's not quite sure what it is. All she knows is that she does not want Madoka to go through, in any way, shape, or form, what she went through. She imagines Madoka in that underground factory, far from the sunlight, in danger of being caught in an explosion. Worse, she imagines Madoka in battle.

Maybe she can convince Kyubey to let Madoka stay somewhere else.

When she's certain everyone else is asleep, she sneaks out of the girls' dormitories and heads to Kyubey's office, her footfalls soft on the padded floor. The dormitories are on the second-to-highest floor in the building. The highest floor, of course, is reserved for Kyubey. She knows where Kyubey’s office is because she's been called up there before. No one can disturb Kyubey, but Kyubey can disturb anyone. There's a slight chance that Kyubey's sleeping, but actually none of the girls have ever seen Kyubey sleep, or eat, or drink, or do anything to suggest that he needs sustenance. Sometimes Homura wonders if Kyubey is even human.

The path up the stairway is dark, but Homura is no longer afraid of the dark.

She knocks on the door once. When no one responds, she knocks again, a bit more insistently. And then a third time. Is Kyubey not in there?

Frustrated, she turns away and walks back down the stairs. The reasonable side of her says that it’s a good thing that she didn’t find Kyubey because, really, she shouldn’t have gone to find Kyubey in the first place. She has no business caring about others. It’s better to not care. She shouldn’t let something that happened six whole years ago influence any of her current decisions. Times have changed, and people have changed, and -

"Madoka," she whispers, at the vision of the girl at the bottom of the stairs.

"H-Homura?" Madoka asks, looking up. "What are you doing awake?"

Homura takes a moment to collect herself. "I could ask the same of you."

Madoka simply tilts her head. "Ah, well, I couldn’t sleep. It's just like back then, isn't it?"

Back then. She suddenly remembers Madoka on that dock, a breeze playing with her hair, _promise me you’ll be okay_. She pushes the memory out of her mind. "Why are you here? You don't belong here." she blurts out, her words sounding more sharp than she intended.

Madoka doesn't look hurt, only confused. "Well, Sayaka and I got separated from our parents, that's all. We're not planning on staying here very long." Her smile, though small, is just as radiant as she remembers it.

Homura frowns and pretends that the smile doesn’t tug anything in her heart. "You should have never left California."

"I wish we hadn't," Madoka says, her voice soft. "But Mom always has a good instinct for when we should leave. America isn't the best place for us - the Japanese - right now. Actually, it hasn’t for a while..."

Of course. Homura feels foolish for not having realized it sooner. America and Japan are at war. She feels something else she hasn't felt in a long time, and this time she recognizes the emotion: anger. She's angry at the war for getting so thoroughly entangled into everything.

She stomps the emotion away and collects her thoughts. "If you value your life, Madoka Kaname,” she says, her tone cool and even, “you will leave this place while you can. You must.” With a flip of her hair, she walks away.

\

The next day, she avoids Madoka and simultaneously watches her from afar. Madoka is in a separate class for new recruits, so in order to observe her, Homura cuts gym training and heads to the back field instead, where the runway is located, and the beginning instructor Gertrud will be giving the new recruits their first lesson on how to fly a plane.

Madoka and her friend, whose name is actually Sayaka, stick together. Sayaka is eager to learn how to fly, but her enthusiasm doesn’t make up for her lack of experience. Madoka, on the other hand, is an absolute natural.

She watches Madoka fly her plane, and when she blinks, she can see the faces of several other little girls in their planes, girls whose oversized goggles couldn’t hide the hope in their eyes, girls with hands too delicate to shoot, girls who aren’t here any more. She learned a long time ago to be insensitive to death, to accept that it was something she was going to be very familiar with, to understand that its imminence was her life now.

But death has no place in the life of Madoka. That one thing she’s absolutely certain of.

\

It’s surprisingly easy to make the decision to go to Kyubey that night. Letting Madoka stay is not even an option. As much as she tells herself that she doesn’t care, she does care, and she always has when it comes to Madoka Kaname. It’s best for her to just accept it. She’s never been one to shy away from hard truths.

This time, she doesn’t run into Madoka at the bottom of the stairs, and when she knocks on Kyubey’s door, it opens.

Kyubey’s office is unchanged from the first time she saw it, as a terrified twelve year old. It’s small and cozy - more so than you’d expect of the headmaster’s office. The walls are a toasty shade of brown and decorated with posters of motivational Japanese sayings or calm scenic photographs. At the center is Kyubey’s white desk, cluttered with an array of papers. The chairs are white as well and adorned with cute, fluffy seat cushions that resemble cats. Now that Homura’s older and knows Kyubey better, she recognizes the homey, welcoming aura of the office as an artfully constructed facade, designed to lure girls into a false sense of security.

“Homura, it’s nice to see you tonight,” Kyubey says, spinning around in his office chair. He, too, looks the same as he did when she first saw him, his face imprinted with its perpetual cheerful smile. “I’ve actually been expecting you. Why don’t you sit down?”

Homura sits down on one of the cat cushions and crosses her legs. “I want to know your plan,” she says bluntly.

“My plan?” Kyubey asks, tilting his head in an innocent manner.

“Yes.”

Kyubey’s unblinking red eyes bore into hers. Homura refuses to avert her gaze. “I’m sure you’re aware Japan is going to lose the war,” he says, very matter-of-fact. “So I had to adjust my plans accordingly. I created you magical girls with a purpose, and that was to fight for Japan in this war. And your fight is not over.”

She listens to Kyubey and feels frustrated. She knows all this already: Japan is going to lose, and they are going to fight until that day comes. “If our fight isn’t over, then why aren’t we fighting right now?” Homura asks.

“Homura Akemi,” Kyubey says, “I hope you’ll understand. In the grand scheme of things, your life is of little or no value. By letting you fight, I have allowed you to participate in something much bigger than yourself. Which is why I hope you’ll understand why I’m planning to send you into one final battle, in which none of you will survive.”

She slams her hand on Kyubey’s desk. “I know this too,” she says. She had immediately recognized the new training technique Charlotte was teaching them today: it was quite obviously a suicide attack. “What about the new recruits?”

Kyubey tilts his head. “Now I understand. It’s not yourself you care about. Well, the new recruits will be flying into battle alongside you, of course.”

At this, her blood runs cold. She and Kyoko and the other experienced pilots have known their fate from the start; to them, death wasn’t an _if_ , but a _when_. But not Madoka. “They don’t have the experience.”

His grin ever unchanging, he merely says, “It’s not particularly difficult to crash.”

/

_part iii_

/

Sometimes Homura wonders if Kyubey is even human.

And other times, she knows he’s not.

\

April 30. That’s the day they’ll join the other Japanese troops in Okinawa, as kamikaze pilots. That’s only a few days from now.

Desperate girls try to run away from the academy from time to time, but they never succeed. For one, there’s nowhere to go, especially now that everything around them is charred remains. And Kyubey always regulated them under tight contracts. She remembers Nagisa Momoe, who had found a distant aunt in the area and wanted to move out. Kyubey had simply smiled and reminded her that before she could, her contract deemed that she must fight in another battle to pay for all those years of food and shelter. Somehow Kyubey had gotten Nagisa to agree and sent her off to fight. She never returned.

Homura tosses and turns all night, wondering how she can rescue Madoka. There must be a way that she can save Madoka, the way Madoka once saved her. There must be a way out of this labyrinth. She’ll find it. She swears that she’ll absolutely find the way out.

\

“What is it with you and Madoka?” Kyoko asks her the next morning, as they stand in the breakfast line and wait for their food. As usual, the redhead is chewing on something: in today’s case, it’s a celery stick that logically she should not have possession of. As is less usual, she also sports a bust lip and a bruise on one cheek.

“What is it with you?” Homura asks, deflecting.

Kyoko scowls. “Hey, I thought you didn’t ask questions.” It’s true. It’s part of what Homura likes about their relationship: Kyoko doesn’t ask questions, and Homura doesn’t either. Usually.

“You asked first.”

“What, so you’re not going to answer?” Kyoko complains. When Homura says nothing, the other girl crosses her arms and sighs. “Fine, I got into a fight with one of those new losers, Sayaka Miki or something. She’s no match for me, of course - ha! You should see _her_ injuries. She’s an uncoordinated, inexperienced fighter, but she kicks like a demon.” She rubs her cheek and waits for Homura to speak. When Homura still doesn’t say anything, Kyoko turns away and finishes up her celery, chewing angrily. “Fine then, be like that. It’s not like I actually care.”

“She saved me, once,” she whispers to herself when Kyoko is far enough away that she can’t hear her. And now it’s her turn to save Madoka.

\

The only other time Kyoko had asked her a personal question was four years ago, the night before they were sent to fight on Kirsten together.

“Hey Homura, do you think you’ll die?”

Homura shrugged. “Maybe.” That actually wasn’t too personal of a question; what was personal was what Kyoko asked next.

“How can you say that so flippantly? Don’t you want to live, Homura?”

She closed her eyes, and the imprint of the ashes of her home flashed on her eyelids. “I don’t particularly care.”

“But you must care at least a little bit. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” Kyoko points out. It’s true. The academy itself is carefully constructed: there are no windows on the higher floors, its materials are surprisingly shatterproof, the walls, ground, and any corners are padded, and on the rare occasion that they do run into something sharp, it’s either taken away from them or carefully monitored. But of course, no one can stop you from dying in battle. And that’s how a girl who wants to die does it: in battle.

She’s had plenty of opportunities since she arrived to die in battle, so why hasn’t she? It’s not as if the possibility has never occurred to her.

A certain pink-haired girl’s face unexpectedly flashes into her thoughts. It’s hope, she realizes. No matter how much she tries to convince herself that she knows better, she’s still clinging onto it. And, to her, hope is the shape and form of Madoka Kaname. Hope only goes so far, though. It keeps her from willingly chasing death. But if death chased her, would she fight it? She doesn’t know. Maybe she would. Maybe she wouldn’t. Her head hurts, and thinking about Kyoko’s question makes her feel lost.

She deflects the question. “Why are _you_ still here?”

Kyoko looks a little annoyed at her lack of a response but doesn’t push any harder. “Yeah well, I actually care about my life. If I died, I wouldn’t be able to keep eating, would I?”

\

She tries to sneak out once again that night, but Charlotte stops her.

“It’s lights out,” she says grumpily. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

She’s much more careful about it the next night. She waits a few hours, wide awake and running the plan over in her head, before gently pulling back her covers and silently getting out of bed. She stands up and surveys the scene. Everyone’s asleep, and the scene is deadly quiet and still. It almost looks as if time has frozen, and she is the only one unaffected.

Good.

Soundlessly, she leaves the bedroom and makes her way to the bottom floor. She unlocks the front doors with a muffled click, twirling her ring of borrowed keys around her finger. She’s surprised at how easy it is. The night is dark, the moon covered by a cloud. But she is unafraid, and she shrouds herself with the darkness.

\

She skips gym training again to stalk - erm, watch over - Madoka. Hidden behind a bush, she smiles when she sees that the class is all abuzz, rightfully so. Because one of their planes has been destroyed.

The academy only has a limited amount of planes suitable for their suicide attack, and Homura knows that Kyubey won’t have the money to purchase another plane, especially on such short notice. Plus, the academy is failing financially. (Actually, the entirety of Japan is failing financially. War and all.)

Usually mild-mannered compared to the other teachers at the school, right now Gertrud is a furious and downright terrifying witch as she yells at the new recruits. Homura wants to run out and wrap herself protectively around the quivering Madoka, but then she would blow her cover. She logically knows that she shouldn’t, so she settles for clenching her fists and fantasizing about shooting a gun through Gertrud's chest.

The field suddenly quiets down as Kyubey steps in front of Gertrud. His back is turned to her, and Homura has to strain to hear what he’s saying.

“What’s all the fuss, Gertrud?” Kyubey asks, his tone calm and composed. Even though Homura can’t see his face, she’s sure he’s smiling as well.

“One of the new students sabotaged one of planes. Just look at it!” Gertrud gestures wildly.

“Madoka, would that happen to be your usual plane?”

“Y-yes,” Madoka stammers. “B-but I wouldn’t - ”

“She did it?” Gertrud shrieks. Homura’s fingernails dig into the flesh of her palm. The pain grounds her, stops her from doing anything reckless.

Kyubey shakes his head. “No, I’m sure she didn’t. She seems like a good, diligent student. In fact, I’m sure none of _these_ students would do such a thing.” And then he turns around, his gaze right on the bush she’s hiding behind. But there’s no way Kyubey would know that she did it. She was much too careful. She even returned the keys she’d borrowed with all her fingerprints carefully wiped off. And surely he doesn’t know that she’s hiding here. She holds her breath and curls into herself, willing herself to shrink and disappear.

He turns back to the new students. “Well, there’s a quite obvious solution here. One of you are excused from flying, and the battle. So, which one of you will it be?”

Homura releases her breath she’d been holding. This is it. She actually did it. Madoka is safe, she’s safe, she’s _safe_.

“Sayaka!” Madoka suddenly shouts, forcing Sayaka’s hand into the air. “Sayaka doesn’t want to go into battle. She can be the one to sit out.”

Sayaka makes some sort of sound, but one of Madoka’s hands clamps around her mouth, muffling her yell. Sayaka glares at her aggressor, but Madoka doesn’t look away. Homura is impressed. And also furious. Absolutely furious. That _idiot_. She bites down on her lip to keep herself from crying out and tastes blood.

“Well, just lovely then,” Kyubey says. “Gertrud, you may resume your class. I’ll take Sayaka down with me.”

Sayaka wrenches herself out of Madoka’s grip and shouts, “But I don’t want to sit out! I want to help.” Yes, Homura thinks. Maybe Sayaka can find a way to beat some sense into Madoka.

“Trust me, I’ll find a way to make you help,” Kyubey says calmly. “I promise you’ll be helpful. Sayaka, come on.”

With one final glare towards Madoka, Sayaka reluctantly follows Kyubey. Homura tries not to scream.

\

She lets Madoka sit down next to her during dinner that day. She doesn’t say anything, instead sipping her miso soup and ignoring Madoka’s presence, as if she’s completely unaffected even though she’s most definitely not. The room is empty besides the two of them, as dinner ended fifteen minutes ago. Homura was held up trying to find Kyubey to convince him to please take Madoka out of his plans before being caught by one of the teachers and sent to the cafeteria, which is why she’s late.

“Flying was fun, today. That’s why I stayed late,” says her neighbor with a smile, breaking the silence. Homura sneaks a glance at Madoka. Her eyes are so wide and bright, almost exactly the way they were six years ago. To Madoka, the world is still something remarkable, maybe even beautiful. When did Homura stop seeing the world at that? Maybe it was after she stopped wearing her glasses. Maybe it was even before that, when she came to Mitakihara and found her family missing. Or maybe it was even before _that_ , when she was lying in a hospital bed and waiting for the pain to become numb. Maybe she’s always been like that. Maybe to her, the world has always been dull and gray, and the only time she ever saw it as anything else was when she could see it through the eyes of Madoka Kaname.

“You’re going to die in battle,” Homura tells her, keeping her face impassive although her heart is breaking.

To her surprise, Madoka only nods. “Well, of course I know I will. I’m not stupid. We’ve all known from the beginning. But it’s okay. You know, I never thought I would do anything much in life. But if I’m protecting people, if it’s for the best of Japan, even if the only person I manage to save is Sayaka, it’s for the best, isn’t it?”

“Why must you always try to sacrifice yourself like that?” Homura whispers.

“Huh?”

It’s as if someone has turned on a fountain, and it all comes pouring out. “Don’t treat yourself like you don’t matter! Think about all the people who consider you precious!” She grabs Madoka’s shoulders, her whisper turning into a trembling shout. “Stop being such a fool! There are so many people who would grieve if you died. What about the people who are trying to protect you?”

“H-Homura.” She turns away, her gaze distant. “Have we met - ” She then trails off, shaking her head.

She hears Madoka’s unfinished question ring in the air - _Have we met before?_ \- and wonders if they have, wonders why she feels like she knows Madoka beyond a brief encounter when they were both twelve, wonders why there’s something tugging in her heart, wonders why there’s something so incredibly familiar about her, about them.

“Never mind,” Madoka says. “That’s silly.”

\

Three days. That’s what she thinks as she lies in bed that night. Three days before fifty-one planes from the Mitakihara Academy for Homeless Girls crash at Okinawa.

Is that even legal? Does the public know about this? Would they approve of sending teenage girls to their death? Surely not. She can’t appeal to Kyubey, but maybe she can appeal to the people of Japan or the government or something. If only she had a way to contact them.

She doesn’t have a way to contact them, and she can’t find a solution of that scale in a mere three days. Besides, Kyubey has been running this child soldier establishment for six years, and in that entire time, no one has cracked down on him. The girls whisper about how it’s possible from time to time. Maybe Kyubey is just incredibly good at manipulating the government. Maybe Kyubey _is_ the government.

Thinking about it isn’t going to solve the problem. Once again, she can’t sleep. Restless, she throws off her blankets and gets out of bed. She’s disregarding stealth this time, and the blankets crinkle audibly, but no one awakes. She paces across the room, and then the room feels too small, so she steps outside.

She doesn’t know where she’s going until she finds herself in the dormitories of the new recruits, her hand on the doorknob. She hesitates for just a moment before turning the knob. Creepily watching Madoka sleep isn’t going to solve anything. It’s just going to make her a creepy stalker.

She feels a slight tap on her shoulder and turns around to meet Kyubey’s red eyes and unnerving smile. It’s such an unexpected sight that she temporarily loses her stoic facade before immediately replacing it.

“Kyubey,” she says calmly.

“Homura Akemi,” he says, in an equally calm tone. “Why did you destroy that plane?”

A myriad of possible responses swirls around her head. _I didn’t do it. You don’t have any evidence. I did it for Madoka._ Instead she does what she does best when asked an unwanted question: she deflects. “Why are you so determined to kill us all?”

“Really, your lives are so fleeting and insignificant,” Kyubey responds. “With over two billion people in the world, why are you so insistent on protecting the lives of a few? When the war ends, I will close this academy. Most of you will die from starvation and other relocation-related causes anyway, or maybe the Allies have new bombs planned for us. Like the new recruits' families; their families all died in the bombing. So, with all that said, isn’t it logical for me to send as many of you as I can to an instant, peaceful death fighting for a cause you believe in?”

“A cause _we_ believe in?” Homura asks, her voice shaking despite her strong attempts to steady it. “Don’t you believe in it too?”

“War is a lovely cause, don’t you think? Because I do, I really do. But unlike you girls, I don’t actually care for this country.  If I had happened to live into the United States, I would very well be doing the same thing there.  I don’t actually care what side I’m on, or even if I win or lose. But war… war is a wonderful game.” The cat smile never leaves his face.

She takes a step back. “W-what are you?”

“Should the opportunity arise again, perhaps I could even end up on the winning side next time. Not that I care whether I win, but it would be nice,” Kyubey muses, ignoring her other question.

“You could just continue to run the school with its original cause in mind, to be a refuge for homeless girls!” Homura shouts, losing her composure for a second time. She’s frazzled, and frightened, and something about Kyubey is really throwing her off. Probably the fact that he just called World War II a _game_.

Kyubey shakes his head. “Homura, I’m disappointed. I took you for smarter than that, a girl I could really be honest to. You know that the Mitakihara Academy for Homeless Girls’ original cause was never to be a refuge for homeless girls.”

He’s right. She did know; a part of her has known for a while, but to hear him affirm it like that sends a chill down her spine. “Why don’t you just kill us more directly by burning this place down or something? Wouldn’t that be more effective?”

“Homura, do you take me for cruel?” Kyubey asks, tilting his head. “I wouldn’t do that.”

\

Two days. Two days until fifty-one of them are sent to their death.

Her mind still reels from her conversation with Kyubey last night. He’s wrong. He has to be wrong. Even if he’s planning on leaving them all homeless, it must be better to be homeless and have even a slim chance at living than to have no chance at all. She sneaks a glance at Madoka, who’s sitting next to Kyoko at the breakfast table. It must be better for Madoka to have a slim chance than none at all.

Her feet move towards Madoka of their own accord, her hands gripping the breakfast tray and wincing at the sudden pain. There are still indents on the palm of her hand from when her nails dug into them so hard that they cut through the skin. She loosens her grip on the tray.

“Madoka,” she says quietly, sitting down at her side. From Madoka’s other side, Kyoko shoots her a knowing look, a piece of bread hanging from her mouth. Homura ignores it.

“Hey, Homura,” says Madoka. “You know, have you seen Sayaka? I haven’t seen her since on the field yesterday, when Kyubey took her.”

Homura shakes her head. Kyoko responds, “Well, I heard she was going on a special mission with one of the other teachers, Elsa Maria or something.”

“A special mission?” Madoka asks, adorably chewing her lip. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

“Ah, of course she will. I’m sure she’ll come back,” Kyoko says, dipping her bread into Madoka’s soup and taking a big bite. Homura glares at her, not only because she took Madoka’s soup but because of the casual, flippant way she does it, as if she and Madoka are best friends or something. To her further annoyance, Madoka doesn’t seem to mind.

“I hope so,” Madoka says. “Because I have to apologize to her. And after she comes back and maybe one day when this war ends, we’re both going to go back to America, and I’m going to help her get together with this boy that she likes. I promised.”

A throwaway line Kyubey had spoken yesterday suddenly flits into her head. _Their families all died in the bombing._ “Madoka,” Homura asks, her tone thoughtful. “What happened to your family, really?”

“Th-they’re fine, of course!” Madoka says, although she doesn’t sound completely convinced. “Mom and Dad and Tatsuya. All fine, I’m sure. Sayaka’s too! Wh-what happened to yours?”

She says nothing, eating her rice instead. Homura doesn’t answer personal questions, ever. But then she makes the mistake of looking up, right into Madoka’s cute and concerned big pink eyes. “They’re great,” Homura lies, keeping her tone flat as usual. “My mother, all four of my grandparents, my aunt and uncle, my two older brothers, and my sister. They’re doing great.”

Kyoko’s staring at her like she's suddenly grown a tail, or maybe a pair of wings. Homura, once again, ignores her.

“Oh, that’s really good to hear,” Madoka says, with a sigh of relief. Homura internally sighs in relief as well. The last thing she wants to do is give Madoka more grief. Drawn to by some strange impulse, she suddenly blurts out, “Can I show you something?”

\

Madoka acquiesces, and they leave the cafeteria together as soon as they finish up their food, even though Homura should be heading over to gym, and Madoka should be down at the field. Throughout all this, Kyoko continues to observe her as if she is a strange zoo creature, but she doesn’t ask her anything, thank goodness, and focuses on her food.

“Shouldn’t we be going to class?” Madoka asks, trailing behind her anxiously.

“You’ll be fine. You don’t need that training anyway,” Homura says.

“But I do!” Madoka insists. “I know it seems silly that I need to learn how to crash properly, but there’s actually training involved, and I need to learn how to do everything properly so that I won’t mess up. I’m not a very fast learner, and I - ”

“Madoka,” Homura interrupts.

“Did you ruin my plane?” Madoka asks.

Startled, Homura turns around to face her and clears her throat. “Yes. I did. To protect you.”

“You said that last night too,” Madoka says. “But Homura, you don’t need to protect me. You should be looking out for yourself. It never even crossed your mind to wreck your own plane, didn’t it? Why - I just don’t understand why. Why is it that you value my life over your own?”

Madoka’s wrong. It hadn’t been part of her original plan, but it did cross her to wreck her own plane, while she was in that shed two nights ago. Looking around at the clean, organized rows of planes, she had spotted her own before she’d spotted Madoka’s. But it was risky enough business to crash one plane without getting caught or killed, let alone two. No, she didn’t want to take the risk of crashing two, only one. And that one would have to be Madoka’s. Because Madoka is innocent and loving and so deserving of life.

More than anything else, Homura is a soldier. She’s not sure what she would do and where she would go if she wasn’t a soldier. She’s not sure if she fits into normal society anymore, if there’s a place for a broken girl like her in a world trying to live in peace. She’s killed. She’s even killed without qualms. She’s survived when her family and so many of the girls in this academy didn’t, survived when she didn’t deserve it. Now it’s her time.

“What if,” Madoka continues, her voice a soft, shaky whisper, “there are people who value your life too?” She takes a step closer.

“And who are those people?” Homura asks, leaning closer.

“Me,” Madoka says without hesitation. They’re so close that Homura can feel the warmth of her breath. “I value your life, but even if I didn’t, you should anyway. You should care about yourself, and cherish your life, because every life should be valued!”

“If that’s so, why are you throwing your life away?” Homura asks. Her voice rises in amplitude as she speaks until she’s screaming into Madoka’s face. “To save people? For some stupid lost cause like this? Stop trying to be a hero! Your heroic sacrifice means nothing at all if you’re dead!”

Madoka winces, taking several paces back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Homura. I - I have to go to class.”

She reaches forward, her hand hovering over Madoka’s arm, although she doesn’t grab it. Madoka looks at her, trembling. “Madoka. I didn’t mean to yell.” She looks down, afraid to look Madoka in the eye, and tries to compose her thoughts. She feels lost again, and she makes a wild mental grab for that feeling she had when she first met Madoka, that feeling she had when this all started. _I love you_ , she wants to say.

“I wish I had more time with you,” she whispers instead.

When Homura looks up, she expects Madoka to have disappeared, but the other girl is still standing in front of her, her eyes shining.

“We do have time,” Madoka says.

\

As they sneak around the hallways of the academy, Madoka keeps looking around anxiously and commenting on how she normally doesn’t do this kind of thing. Homura finds it adorable. She’s not quite sure what they’re doing, but she does know that she wants to spend as much time with Madoka as possible, at least until Homura can think up a solution to all this.

“Ah, what if we get caught?” Madoka frets.

“We won’t,” Homura says simply. Nothing bad will happen today. She won’t let anything bad happen today. She feels Madoka’s small hand entwined with her own and pretends that she’s twelve years old again, and her only fear is the dark.

 _Promise me you’ll be okay_.

She takes Madoka upstairs to the floor which hosts the girls’ dormitories. It’s completely empty, as everyone else is in class, and the lack of windows means that the floor is dark as well. Everything is still and quiet and almost eerie. She gets the feeling that time has frozen again, and she is the only person unaffected. Well, she thinks, clinging onto Madoka’s hand like some sort of lifeline, and Madoka too.

Homura searches for the light switch, her hand fumbling around the wall.

“Why did you take me here?” Madoka asks, finding the switch easily and flooding the hall with light. “Is there something fun around here?”

Homura says nothing. She doesn’t know why she brought Madoka here. She just wanted to take Madoka somewhere she knew there was no one else.

“Ooh, we can go exploring!” Madoka suggests. “I know this is a school, but there must be something fun here. There’s always something fun somewhere.”

\

They spend the next few hours exploring the nooks and crannies of the academy and hiding from teachers. Homura learns that there is one window on the second floor: in the teacher’s bedrooms. Although it doesn’t open, she and Madoka both appreciate the view before sneaking out. They find a message someone scratched into the floor in one of the girls’ dormitories that simply reads _I was here_. They visit the teacher’s lounge, and the ring of keys Homura took from the coat rack a few days ago has disappeared, but they do find a cute pink hat. It’s funny, how in the six years she’s been here, she never noticed any of the things that Madoka did.

Homura also learns little things about Madoka. She’s usually clumsy but moves with a determined grace when she has a purpose in mind. Her weapon of choice would be the bow and arrow, although she doesn’t consider herself much of a fighter. Despite living in America for so long, her least favorite subject is still English.

She finds herself opening up just slightly to Madoka as well. She talks a bit about her childhood and her heart condition. When Madoka presses her for more stories, she tells her the bits and pieces she remembers about life with her extended family and shares a few stories about her father.

They don’t talk about the war. They don’t talk about Kyubey and the Magical Girl Academy and April 30. She’s twelve years old and delighted to spend time with her savior and new friend Madoka Kaname. Sure, there are hints that the world is heading towards chaos, and it’s not perfect, but Madoka looks in wonderment at the universe around them, and Homura looks in wonderment the pink-haired girl in front of her. Nothing has changed at all. The feeling of Madoka’s hand in her own still makes her heart skip, and the words _I love you_ still bubble in the back of her throat. They talk about quirks and little pretty things and hope.

Hope. It’s so much like Madoka to still keep hope. Madoka, the girl who has been her own symbol of hope for so long.

\

Homura wants to explore other parts of the academy because she wants to feel twelve years old just a little longer, but Madoka’s hungry and starting to feel guilty (well, even more guilty than before) about skipping class, so they head to the cafeteria for lunch. Upon which they immediately run into Kyoko, and Madoka’s hand slips out of her own to pick up a lunch tray, and reality comes crashing back down.

It’s April 28, and she has two days left to live.

“Hey Madoka, have you seen Sayaka?” Kyoko asks. “I still haven’t seen than punk around anywhere.”

“Shouldn’t she be back by now?” Madoka asks, biting her lip. “She left yesterday morning, I think. Special missions don’t take that long, do they? Homura, you’ve been here longer than me. How long do special missions usually last?”

She shrugs impassively instead of saying something, drawing back into her walls.

“Now that I think about it, I’ve never heard of this special solo mission business. Kyubey always has us work in troops,” Kyoko says.

“D-do you think something could have happened to Sayaka?” Madoka asks.

Kyoko confidently shakes her head. “I’m sure she’ll come back. I mean, she _better_. I was just starting to get to know her.”

“I hope so,” Madoka says, picking up her lunch. “Kyoko, would you like some of my rice?”

The red-haired girl almost lights up in excitement. “Madoka, you are a goddess.”

Madoka blushes. Homura fumes in the background and burns a hole into Kyoko’s head with the force of her glare. Kyoko ignores her, chewing her rice and raising an innocent eyebrow.

\

“Seriously, what is it with you and Madoka?” Kyoko asks her again as they’re leaving the field, having finished up with their daily training. It’s dark once again, and the number of hours until April 30 shrinks and shrinks while the mountain of dread in her bottom of her stomach grows and grows.

“Nothing.”

“Ah, so if I were to, say, break all her limbs or something - ”

“You wouldn’t _dare_ ,” Homura growls. The death glare she sent to Kyoko earlier this afternoon is nothing compared to the one she sends now.

“Calm down. I wasn’t serious,” Kyoko says, backing away. “Even I would feel bad beating up someone as good as Madoka.”

Satisfied, Homura softens her glare. “Yes, Madoka is good.” And clumsy and naive and protective and cute.

“So how long have you been in love with her?” Kyoko casually asks, taking a pack of crackers out of her pocket.

Homura says nothing and keeps her face as neutral as possible, although her pulse is currently running way too quickly for her tastes.

“I’m totally cool with that kind of thing, you know,” Kyoko says, munching on her cracker. “My father was a preacher, but he wasn’t the usual sort. He was different, but he was right. He was really nice, a great man. He had all these ideas. He wanted to change the world.” She suddenly sighs. Homura doesn't bother to ask what happened to her family. Girls only come to the Magical Girl Academy for one reason.

“Six years,” she finally says.

“That’s a long time,” Kyoko comments, looking stunned at the fact that Homura actually answered one of her questions for once. “Hey, for what it’s worth, I think you have a little tiny chance at it working out. Madoka seems to like you.”

“Madoka likes everybody.”

Kyoko pops another cracker into her mouth. “True.”

“And we’ll be dead in two days.”

She doesn’t mean to say that part out loud, but Kyoko only nods and adds another “True.”

\

Sayaka Miki is still not back by the next morning, and even Kyoko is starting to worry. Homura has a suspicion of what happened, but she doesn’t like it. She keeps her suspicions to herself because the last thing Madoka needs is to worry more.

Homura wants to ditch again, but Kyubey has something different planned for today. Usually he doesn't come down to the field and lets the teachers do their job, but today he leads all fifty-one of the kamikaze pilots - veterans and new recruits alike - into the field and runs over the plan for tomorrow. He personally checks all the planes and the pilots and oversees the training. They'll be leaving bright and early tomorrow morning. They will attack in two groups, one of twenty-six and the other of twenty-five. Homura and Madoka are both in the first group. Homura swears Kyubey's done this on purpose because he wants to get rid of them as soon as possible. Maybe she's being paranoid, but she gets the uncomfortable feeling that Kyubey knows more about them that he sometimes lets on.

They leave the green fields of the Magical Girl Academy for once and into the ruins of Mitakihara so that they'll have more room to practice. They're more spread out than usual, and Homura looks at the open field and space and wonders if she could run away. But she sees teachers at every corner; Kyubey seems to have brought all of them out for this: Gertrud, Charlotte, Kirsten Elly, Elsa Maria, and Patricia. Wait, Elsa Maria? Wasn't she supposed to be off on a mission with Sayaka? If Elsa Maria is back, why isn't Sayaka back? Perhaps they just arrived. Perhaps they'll see Sayaka during lunch. But Homura somehow knows that they won't and feels a little sick. Homura doesn't particularly care for the blue-haired girl, but she knows Madoka does.

She focuses on flying, ready to look like the perfect soldier, someone not questioning anything at all. She looks around for Madoka or maybe even Kyoko, but they're located too far away. She looks at the view of the ruins of Mitakihara and plunges down.

\

Just a few weeks ago, she was the perfect soldier. She was good at not only fighting but also planning. Even though Kyubey was the one who officially taught and sent them all their strategies, Homura was the one who applied and coordinated them on the field, meshing different strategies to come up with her own when she felt like the situation demanded it. She was ruthless and sometimes even reckless but never suicidal. Any risks she took were carefully and coldly calculated. The other girls respected her and followed her leadership and avoided her. Charlotte once compared her to Kyubey with pride in her voice. That had stirred something akin to disgust in her uncaring heart, but like any other emotion, she immediately stowed it away into the deep recesses of her mind.

It didn't scare her at all that the only thing in the world she was good at was killing.

\

She pulls the nose of the plane back up in a sharp turn just before she crashes into the ground, and that's when she sees her: Madoka. She's several yards away in what was previously Sayaka's plane, the sunlight shining off her pink hair. Homura can't see her expression from this distance, but she hopes that Madoka hasn't seen Elsa Maria.

\

Madoka has seen Elsa Maria. And so has Kyoko.

"What do you suppose it means?" Madoka asks when Sayaka still isn't back by dinner.

Homura's too tired to lie to Madoka right now. "Exactly what you think it means."

"No," Madoka whispers, suddenly turning away and wiping at her eyes. "That can't be."

"How can you say that so flippantly?" Kyoko hisses into her ear. "That was - That was Sayaka's best friend!"

At the sight of Madoka crying, something else in her breaks. She pushes away her dinner tray. "There's no reason for us to play around right now. Tomorrow is the day we all die. We should just be honest with each other."

Madoka turns back, her eyes still wet. "Honest with each other, right?" Her voice shakes. "Well then, I - I don't actually think my family is alive. And I don't think yours is either, Homura."

So she's known all along that Homura was lying about that. Sometimes Madoka is more perceptive than Homura gives her credit for. She doesn't say anything. Madoka takes her silence to be an affirmation, and wipes at her eyes once more. Homura tries to think of something to say, something to make the situation better. She gently places her hand atop of Madoka's, her heart hammering. Madoka looks at her in surprise.

"Wow, all our families our dead. What a shocker," Kyoko says sarcastically, ruining the moment. "How very surprising. This is a royally fucked up situation. We all knew that. Is that really the only thing you think you should be honest about?” She sends Homura a pointed look. Homura’s heart rate definitely doesn’t speed up when she thinks about what Kyoko may be implying.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Homura says, perhaps a bit too sharply.

Madoka swirls her soup with her spoon and doesn’t look up. “I’m going to ask one of the instructors if I can go to bed early,” she says softly. Without saying anything else, she stands up and leaves. Homura watches her retreating figure and is suddenly struck by how very small, how fragile Madoka looks. She almost follows - but she stops herself. What would she even say? What could she do that would make the situation better? Madoka’s probably better off without her.

Homura hisses as Kyoko’s elbow suddenly strikes her in stomach. “What was that for?”

“You know exactly what that’s for,” Kyoko says, standing up and pulling at Homura’s arms. “Listen, do I have to spell it out for you? You’re going to die tomorrow. You literally have nothing to lose. What the hell are you waiting for?”

Homura stands up, if only to have Kyoko stop pulling at her arms. The redhead has a strong grip and an even stronger pull. “Okay, fine,” she says, looking away so Kyoko won’t catch her blush. “I’ll chase after her.”

\

She catches up with Madoka in the middle of the hallway. She isn’t sure what to do or what to say, but she feels like she owes it to Madoka to try. “Hey, I'm sorry. I-I'm sorry about Sayaka." Madoka doesn't turn around. "I know you really cared about her. It was -" 

Madoka turns around to face her, and Homura forgets what she was trying to say when they make eye contact.

“Want me to really be honest?” Madoka asks, quietly enough that Homura has to lean in a little closer. Madoka takes a deep breath. “I’m scared.”

The fact surprises her - although really, it shouldn’t. For so long, Madoka was her hope - a hazy concept, the faded memory of a goddess she looked up to. But Madoka is not a concept or a goddess. She’s a lonely eighteen-year-old girl who has lost everything and is about to lose her life.

Madoka’s hands are warm in her own - warm, and alive. Homura doesn’t remember when Madoka took her hands - or had Homura reached out first? Her pulse is much too fast for her liking, and her blood rushes in her ears.  

“I’m scared too,” Homura admits. “I’m afraid of death. I’m afraid of what’s going to happen tomorrow. And I’m afraid -” She hesitates, but the words come out in a whispered rush before she can stop them. “I’m afraid of what I feel for you, because I love you so much, and that really, really scares me.”

“H-Homura,” Madoka says, her eyes wide and undecipherable, and then Madoka leans forward and kisses her.

Madoka’s lips are warm against her own - warm, and alive. It happens so quickly that Homura doesn’t even have time to process what has happened before Madoka pulls away. They stare at each other, cheeks flushed and hearts pounding and breaths coming out a little too fast. Madoka’s eyes search her own, wide and hesitant, as if to ask _Was that okay?_

In response, Homura gently cups Madoka’s face and kisses her again. She’s not sure where her boldness comes from - maybe it’s from the headiness of the previous kiss, or the knowledge that both their deaths are imminent.

But Homura isn’t thinking about death right now. She isn’t thinking of anything but Madoka, how warm and alive she is, how good she feels in her arms.

/

Today is the day Madoka dies.

As Homura puts on her uniform and helmet, everything around her feels muted. She can’t feel the usual discomfort of her goggles digging into her face or hear Kyoko’s grim jokes. Not even Madoka can get her to focus, and the memory of last night’s bliss is quickly fading. The only thing left for her is the cold and ugly reality.

She walks towards her plane in a daze. She can vaguely hear Kyubey, giving them orders and reviewing their route. She can see the blurry faces of the other girls chosen to fly with her, girls that she’s led into battles before, and she wonders why she never bothered to learn their names. She thought it would hurt less, but she’s hurting now. Her vision blurs further, this time with tears.

Homura quickly wipes her eyes dry and gets into her plane. As she grips the steering wheel, a thought suddenly strikes her out of nowhere. _Leave_.

She’s considered deserting before, but never seriously. The punishment for deserting is violent and swift; Kyubey always makes a big show of it whenever a deserter is caught. Apart from the harsh discipline, Kyubey’s good at picking his soldiers. In the rare case that he can find them, he picks patriotic girls who truly love their country and think that fighting is their duty to Japan. But more often, he picks girls like Homura, girls so far gone that they don’t dream of freedom. Girls who know that they have won’t have anything waiting for them in the war-ravaged world. At least they get food and shelter and somewhat of a purpose at the Academy.

 _Leave_. The thought strikes her again, more powerful this time. By now, she’s in the air. It would be so easy to just turn away. What is Kyubey going to do, anyway? Kill her? The thought makes her laugh out loud. She feels strangely giddy, as she laughs and laughs and laughs.

 _Live_. It’s Madoka’s voice in her head now. It’s what the girl had told her, after they’d broken apart from their kisses. _I wish you could live, Homura. Live, Homura_.

The fogginess from earlier in the day disappears. Up in the blue sky, among the clouds, Homura’s head is clear. Her hands steady, she grips the steering wheel, and she turns. She’s not sure where she’ll go, but she turns with certainty.

She can hear Kyubey in her headset. _Soldier Akemi, you’re off course. What are you doing?_ She ignores it, and she only laughs and accelerates. She’ll need to land soon and abandon the plane as quickly as she can. The planes don’t have very much fuel - just enough fuel to get them to crash into the right ship - and she doesn’t want to be tracked down.

 _Soldier Akemi, get back on course_ , Kyubey commands through the headset, his voice calm but authoritative. She ignores it.

 _Soldier Sakura, return to your course as well._ That catches Homura’s attention. She looks around. A plane is following her - Kyoko’s plane. And then she watches in awe as a few more break off from the formation and off the path and follow her. Kyubey continues to give orders through the headset. _Soldiers, you are off course. I just don’t understand!_

Homura turns the headset off; she doesn’t need it anymore. More and more planes veer off course and follow her, but she’s really only looking for one. And then she sees it - near the edge of her peripheral vision, but most certainly following her. Madoka.

 _Live_ , she thinks. _I wish you could live, Madoka_. She doesn’t believe in any god, but she prays, and she hopes, desperately. _Live, Madoka_.

And together, they fly into the unknown.

**Author's Note:**

> I was going through some old writing and found an unfinished piece from Camp NaNoWriMo 2015. I started this April 2015, y'all. Well better late than ever, anyway?


End file.
